The Diary
by Terri Ryan
Summary: A diary of sorts, with various contributors. Will often deal with 'what ifs' or controversial issues.  If spanking were allowed as official or unofficial discipline, Mitch comes back early, Mitch doesn't die, Rose is more balanced and others
1. The 'Kit' gets introduced

As usual, I don't own All Saints, Channel 7 and others do.

Warning: The contents of this fic may be found squicky by some readers, so I warn you now that this fic will contain various incidences from all 12 seasons of All Saints where various forms of spanking—in my opinion—probably should have occurred. These incidences are all corporal punishment of adults. You have been warned. This chapter sets the scene, the next chapter will begin the first season's incidents. You'll probably meet one or two implements per chapter, but I'll try to remember to keep a list at the end of each chapter so you can keep track of them.

There will also be other controversial issues tackled in this fic. It is a diary of sorts, where varous characters can chronicle what happened in various episodes from their viewpoint, what might have happened if various conditions had been met, or various circumstances had occurred. So hang on to your hats, because this could get messy!

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><p>The 'Kit'<p>

Hi, Mitch.

The ones for the Maternity neonatal ICU and kids' wards came in pastel pink or blue. (Kids' wards ones had a limit on what was to be used on the patients... Frankly anyone who needed to be told what could be used on the kids and what couldn't be should be a patient themselves. They need to have their brain checked, at the very least.) Cardiac ward's came in red. Other specialities got their own colours. The general wards' kits came in black. And the ambos had kits too. Theirs were red and white striped. Well, specifically the cases. We were allowed to choose the colours we wanted the contents of the cases to be. I chose pink and purple. So I was going through a girly stage then... sue me.

This was, you understand, back in the days when the Church ran the hospital. One of the last things the Church did was abolish the use of the "Kits'" contents. Of course, a few of MY 'Kit's contents didn't get used at all, at least while I was its owner. Mainly because I just didn't believe in them, or because I could get the same results (Often better!) by using a far less severe implement for a longer time.

About six years later, the hospital board decided the staff and patients were a little unruly, and the wards' 'Discipline Kits' (The board's reference, we on the wards would only ever call them THE kits.) were reinstated.

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><p>After my ward closed down, apparently my kit got transferred down to the ED, ahead of me. The Head of Emergency Medicine claimed it, and the hospital's board decided to allow him to run his department how he saw fit. He saw fit to use the Kit... a LOT. A few of the members of my ward thought the contents appeared to be familiar. The first time I had encountered it, well, in the ED anyway... (because I was no stranger to it on the Ward... Any doctor or nurse who believed I needed or deserved it could, and often would, confront me, discuss the situation, and then swiftly administer justice—I rarely hesitated in doing the same to them, after all! And I saw the Kit day after day; it belonged in my office, of course. Oh yeah, and of course anyone who felt they needed to be dealt with could request 'corrective therapy'... and whomever came up with that moniker probably had a thing about so called 'corrective therapy' but didn't want to be outed as a pervert! 17 never used such a silly euphemism, we just called it what it was.. a damn good spanking. I think I even asked for a couple myself, on REALLY bad days.) I instantly recognised it.<p>

Well, it was hard not to, really. I had seen it every day for some years, used it at least three times a month... well, it surely felt that way. It was probably a lot less often, but you know what I mean... so it was kinda hard not to recognise it instantly. Especially as it was open... I knew the order of the implements; I knew their names and their colours. Hell, I remembered, just by looking at them, what they felt like... from both sides of the equation. I had used almost all, and received almost all. The few which had dust on them had never been used on my staff... no, my friends, but I still knew them.

I knew, and identified, all of the implements. I even explained why the metal rod had pastel blue, pink and green ribbons tied around it—it had only ever been used as a costume-prop, when someone suggested I go as Bo Peep to some kind of party. It was tucked away after that and never used again... Until the next costume party which required a shepherdess, in this case Mary and her Lamb.

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><p>The 'Community House' I lived in for some of my Ward years had one too. Theirs was black and unadorned. Many of the hospital departments gave that rod different names, mostly derogative or clearly contemptuous, (not that I really blamed them!) but to 17 it would only ever be "the Crook", because that was all it ever was to me. I would never use it, or allow it to be used. The 'house's' Crook had been used on me, perhaps twice during my years there. I'm going to recount one of those times soon, but not right now.<p>

It was called 'The Crook' because it was shaped like a shepherd's crook. The 'house's' "Crook" was used for the purpose of guiding wandering feet back into the narrow path of Righteousness. Having said that, you needed to stray pretty far to get the 'Crook', especially since Marguerite was a strong believer in the hairbrush, a trait she would eventually pass down to Bernard... After all, the Crook could only ever be used for the very lightest, or the very most serious, of discipline. Even the very lightest of taps stung enough to let you know you were in trouble and had better shape up quickly, there was no middle ground with the Crook... But that's another story, for another time.

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><p>Anyway, I was talking about recognising 17's old 'Kit'. I guess the most obvious sign was the tag on the handle. The label which had 'owner' and 'Ward' on it. I don't know why, but I'd put my full name on the 'owner' slot. It was big enough to take three lines, TES. Therese Eileen Sullivan. The ward slot proudly displayed '17'. Well, it DID belong to MY ward, and Ward 17 was my ward. Frank laughed when I pointed that out to him. Then he informed me that not even being its former owner would protect me from its contents. I laughed. I told him that being the Kit's owner had never protected me from its contents before, and I saw no reason why that should change.<p>

Apparantly Frank considered that cheeky, because the next thing I knew my hands were flat on his desk and I was getting fast, light swats over the trousers of my royal blue scrubs. Of course, I knew the paddle instantly, even if it was by feel rather than sight, although I think Frank took it as a challenge when I laughed and said "Harmless"... Until the stupid thing broke in half, that is. At that point, he actually asked what the procedure for replacing it was, and then asked me whether I had been challenging him. Well, he did when he'd finished swearing at the split paddle, anyway. I almost made a sarcastic comment about Harmless being one of the few times it really DID cause the giver pain too... Then I noticed the four raised points in his hand.

I told him the truth, that because of how easily it broke, and how lightly it had to be used, the entire ward had named that particular paddle "Utterly Harmless". I also pointed out the two paddles which were more useful for actual discipline, and told him that 'Harmless' was good for one thing only—the 'shape up FAST or you're in even bigger strife' stingers I generally favoured for minor infractions and first offenses. I also told him that, due to its very low durability, Harmless should never be used without at least one layer of clothing between it and the target. He raised one eyebrow, and I just said 'Splinters. Target area is a delicate one. You just DON'T want them there.' He looked a little sceptical, but maybe that was just because he needed a few minutes to work out what I meant by 'target area'.

I pointed out, then removed, the four which had stuck in his hand when the damned thing broke, before sending him to clean and dress the wounds, because knowing Frank he wouldn't have tolerated being nursed, even if it WAS by a fully qualified Registered Nurse. I think he saw my point though, because he was mumbling something about preventing splinters in delicate and inconvenient places. I told him that's why you always keep at least one layer of clothing between the paddle and the target when the paddle's that damn flimsy.

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><p>Actually, I lied about Crook. (I'm sorry, my thoughts seem to be all over the shop right now, so I'll be bouncing from one topic to another for a while, I guess.) It was used once, on me. A month before the incident, Colin and I got along famously. Then suddenly, his attitude towards me, and my ward, takes a complete 180 degree turn, and suddenly he hates me. I couldn't do anything right, and it was so confusing. Still, I was never one to back down from what I believed was right, no matter how much trouble it got me into.<p>

I know now, that Colin's attitude change matches up with (For it could HARDLY be called a coincidence, no matter what anyone says!) the time he started having an affair with Mitch's ex-wife. (Mitch being Mitch Stevens. I guess I'll use another time to explain the triangle between the three of us.) Yeah, Rose Carlton-Stevens was a vindictive little bitch. Colin turned against me and 17 on HER say-so alone. I know, because of a lot of the things he quoted to me. He always said "Rose says blah blah blah" or "Rose believes blah blah blah" or "Rose was right about blah blah blah" never once realising that he was falling victim to the very things he was accusing me of, by the very woman he was quoting. I yelled at poor Vincent Hughes about it, I thought HE was the one who was causing Colin to hate me. I still don't know who tattled about Carmen, but it might well have been ANYONE.

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><p>Anyway, I'll tell you all about the time when Colin got mad enough to use Crook... another day. I don't really want to think about it right now. It was about Carmen, though, and even though everyone involved had acted in Carmen's best interests, and according to Carmen's wishes... Well, it was cold comfort to me and Charlotte when Colin was that mad. At least Colin let Nicola stay on the case' so to speak. Carmen's agoraphobic, so I was glad there was one face she knew, even if it was the one face she DIDN'T want to see. It turned out later that Nicola was the very best person to stay on the job... well, that's another story too.<p>

Now that I think of it; that should have made it clear to me that it wasn't Vincent. No matter how much he disliked me, or why, he wouldn't have tattled on Charlotte over something so petty. And he would have done his research. Colin apparently didn't know that it had been Nicola who eventually convinced Carmen that coming to hospital would be the best thing to do. That we couldn't do what Carmen needed at home, it just wasn't safe. Even being on my ward wasn't safe, because All Saints is a teaching hospital, and despite my orders, one of the idiot professors decided to take some students into her room. Carmen went catatonic.

She aspirated on some rose petals a few days (I guess, I don't really remember) later. Turned out she'd swapped one terror for another. I think Nicola was able to help her eventually, but as Nicola said, swapping being too scared to leave her home for being too scared to leave the hospital wasn't really an improvement. I'm not really sure it's important to tell any more details about Carmen right now. I'll try to recount that story as I remember it.

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><p>I've been on leave from my Ward a couple of times, and each time my friends have kept me up to date with anything that went on in my absence. Which includes any time the Kit was used. I'll try to relate those times as well. But not right now. Right now, I don't even want to really think about the Kit. Or about Crook. I'm tired, and I'm having nightmares. I've turned one of my pillows into a chew toy, because I can't yell out. I can't scare Lucy.<p>

Yeah, I'm Lucy's step-mum, and now I guess I'm her actual mum too. And not a day goes by when one or both of us doesn't desperately wish we still had Mitch and Victoria. Lucy adored Rose, but I think she was a little scared of her at the same time, because she sometimes has nightmares about 'mummy's strange moods'. One day I'll tell her all about bi-polar, until then I just have to tell her that her mummy was very sick, and that her medication wasn't properly monitored. I also tell her that no-one knew about her mummy's illness until after her mummy was pregnant with her, because until Mitch found that prescription, no-one had any idea Rose was on lithium, or Rose had bi-polar.

My nightmares are about an unpredictable parent too. My father, to be exact. But I guess that can be saved for another day. I don't feel like thinking about it right now. I think I can go to sleep again now, so I might try to record a bit more about this some time in the next week.

Until then old friend, Sullivan, signing off.

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><p>Well, I guess it's fairly clear that this is going to be a long-running (I hope) diary-type story. Sometimes it's going to have different narrators, but its regular narrator will be Terri Sullivan. And don't even bother asking ME why the diary's named Mitch, because I had planned on calling it Diary, or something entirely unrelated to the series, but my muse decided it wanted the diary's name to be Mitch.<p> 


	2. Peter's First Entry

sAs usual, I don't own All Saints. Channel 7 does. The DVDs the next several entries are based on are owned by EMI. This chapter's from season one. It covers the first two episodes.

As promised, a new perspective. Dr Peter Morrison, one of the hospital's psychiatrists.

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><p>Peter's First Entry.<p>

Hi, Diary. (Terri calls you Mitch, God alone knows why, but since you're a book with the words Ward Journal on the front, I'm calling you Diary.)

Well, I guess I should start by telling you all about how many in the hospital did, or didn't get on with Harry Williams. He and I had been interns together, and he was a perfectionist pig with too high an opinion of himself back then, but he only got worse really over the years. He was also never able to take any good natured ribbing. Ever really.

In the early years, that would've gotten him intimately acquainted with the Kits of various wards, mainly on the receiving end, no doubt. He was a 'problem child' as an intern, and he was a 'problem child' as a specialist. He wouldn't listen to the nurses, even when they knew better than the doctors what was going on. He often verbally abused the nursing staff, and the patients, especially if he didn't get his own way, and he had a shocking temper.

On the other hand, it turns out he had an underlying heart condition as well. I'm rather surprised none of the paddlings he earned from various wards caused an arrest or similar. I guess the medical staff's one other complaint against him would be that he had the thoroughly annoying habit of picking as his pets the most unstable, insufferable interns. I remember once hearing two of the nurses and a ward clerk actually tell another intern—well, maybe by then he was a registrar,- that he had shown up exactly on time, they needed their faith in doctors restored.

Everyone says that Terri Sullivan must have really had the patience and/or perseverance of a saint. I just say she's got a gentle soul. While most of the wards were using short, but often harsh, doses of their double or triple tailed straps and heavy canes (Often with a fair time gap between applications) to sort out the most difficult staff members (Doctors, nurses, orderlies etc.) patients and visitors, Terri swore by the lighter, yet far more frequent application of a medium grade hairbrush. Having said that, I think some of the doctors (and others!) actually respected that brush. In some cases more than the straps or canes. I know I did.

But Terri really was a patient woman. She could take being teased, actually teased back a fair bit of the time. I speak from experience. Most nuns wouldn't have tolerated patients wolf-whistling at them, but it just amused Terri. Then again, a lot of things that most others of her rank (religious or otherwise) wouldn't have put up with seemed to amuse her. Bron's discussing gambling with the patients, for example.

One of the things that didn't amuse her, on the other hand, was having patients on 17 who should have been in other wards. Hell, she even tolerated a lot of the gossiping about Sophie Williams (If she found out about it!) but wasn't amused by the fact that Harry, who should have been in CCU, was on a general ward. Neither was I, come to think of it.

I found Harmless, covered by a magazine, on the bedside table in Harry's room, after he had died... Well, the ward had two of that light little paddle, and apparently Bron had requisitioned one of them, for permanent use so long as Harry was a patient. Wise of her, as a few stinging swats every few hours was probably all that kept him in line, but I doubt his heart could've taken anything more stressful.

I don't think she was terribly amused when she found out that Jaz, Bron and Steph had been gossiping about Harry's visitors... Well, actually it was probably because of their speculation on whom Harry had or hadn't hit on. Or maybe it was just that Sophie Williams managed to hear about half of it. Then again, it might have been that crack about 'forbidden fruit' and whether or not Harry had hit on Terri herself. What I do know is that Jaz, Bron and Steph found themselves on the receiving end of Twin Sting, a deceptively light double tailed strap. (I say that because that little strap didn't leave bruises or break skin, but by GOD the little bastard could STING like a swarm of bloody bees!)

Terri swore by Twin Sting, almost as much as Harmless, and certainly as much as either of the two hairbrushes. Actually, most people got either TS or Harmless for minor infractions. More serious issues were dealt with by one of the hairbrushes, or one of the three medium grade general purpose paddles. (One was sturdier than Harmless, but about the same weight, the next one up was about half that weight over again, so they were pretty light by some standards. The third was about double the weight of Harmless, maybe 2 ½ times the weight.) Harmless 1 was rectangular, Harmless 2 was round. The medium grade paddles were round, oval and rectangular, respectively.

I guess I should let Terri tell you the names 17 gave all the implements. On top of what Terri or I have already mentioned, there was a fourth heavy flat GP paddle (About triple the weight of the second medium grade one), two paddles with various numbers of holes drilled in them, (the worst was rectangular, the same weight as the heavy grade paddle, with three rows of four holes drilled in it, the other two were round and oval, Medium grade 2 and 3 weight with two rows of two holes, and two rows of three holes respectively.) and, a three tailed strap, and a small collection of canes. Oh, and a metal rod with a hooked end, called Crook. Terri refused to use the heaviest flat paddle, the two heavier drilled paddles, or the two heavier canes. Crook was only ever a costume prop, Terri insisted on that. I agreed with her, that metal rod was NASTY. (And yes, I speak from experience, although I'd rather not relive that day.)

Although, I do remember that decision being taken out of her hands one day, by an irate Harry. We were having issues about a patient, Judith Aston. She had terminal lung cancer, and Harry wouldn't listen to her, even as she begged to not be treated any more. Then he started needling Terri about euthanasia, and suicide, and how a catholic nun was being hypocritical, and Terri informed him that, and I quote: "It's not God's will that's keeping her alive, Harry, it's YOURS".

I finally managed, after being informed that I was on thin ice, (And watching Terri get what I termed a rather harsh dose of Menace (The three-tailed strap) for disobeying orders (Doing something other than exactly WHAT Harry wanted, exactly WHEN Harry wanted.) which had left her drained and upset, to convince Harry to talk to Ms Aston. Only to watch him steamroll right over anything she tried to say, before informing me that the ice I had been on had just cracked. I said I was a good swimmer, which got me a dose of Menace, but the matter appeared to be dropped... Until Judith died, after removing her c-pap mask. (Terri supported that move, and sat with her until the end. Terri's a good woman, and a dear friend... And no, for your information, I'm not in love with her. I'm married! She's like a sister to me, and Jen—my wife, by the way.)

Harry never had liked mouthy nurses, just like his pet intern. (That one quit earlier in the day, because Steph proved herself more competent that he was... And poor Steph got a dose of Menace for chasing away Harry's best intern... even though the arrogant little prick had left all on his own, and Luke had tried to convince him to stay. It didn't work, unfortunately, and Luke got Menace too... Menace seemed to be rather overworked that day, and needed to have a coat of polish and softener applied afterwards!)

He didn't like mouthy psychiatrists, either, apparently. Anyhow, Harry arrogantly pointed out that 'no patient can make an informed decision for the simple reason that they don't know,' and I retorted that patients who hadn't had information withheld from them by arrogant doctors DID know, and had the perfect right to make their own choices. Terri then admitted to being the one who had told Judith that she had the right to refuse treatment.

And of course he was furious about Judith's death. So he met us both, just as we were leaving 17, and simply stated that he needed to speak to us in Terri's office. Terri just shrugged, and went back into her office, and we followed. I guess we were expecting Harry to just yell at us and make threats about the medical board, (Which he was doing, as he shut the door,) because his actions took us both by surprise. He told us both to get over the desk. Naturally, we refused, and I called him out as the arrogant little berk he was being.

Next thing I knew, Harry had strode over to the bookshelf, and pulled out the long, thin case which held the three canes, and Crook, and Terri was telling him that he had no right to do this, that this is HER ward, and that's HER kit, and SHE is in charge of deciding what is or isn't used on her and her patients (and their visitors, if necessary!) and staff, thank you damn well very much. Harry told her to shut up and get over the desk before she found herself in worse trouble. He added something to the effect of: "and you too, Morrison."

I had already pulled myself over the desk, anyway. Harry in a temper was worse than Bernard in a temper according to Terri, (And that was pretty bad, again according to Terri), so I wasn't going to test him... Beyond pushing myself back up long enough to pull Terri down next to me. Perhaps it was to reward our 'co-operation', perhaps he just couldn't be bothered doing anything to modify our clothes, perhaps he was in a hurry and wanted to do it fast, and perhaps it was some illusion about preserving decency or dignity (Waste of time on the last one, Crook can slice dignity into ribbons.) but at least we kept two layers of clothing between us and that rotten little rod. (And before that day I hadn't realised how damn THIN these wool trousers are, either!)

Considering the vigour he swung with that day, I still have difficulty believing he was dead the next afternoon. He was admitted overnight with chest pain, and Terri was furious when she found him on 17. (Although not as furious as Bron was... poor Harry, according to Luke and others!) Rob Bowen had the gall to call her out on 'personal issues' because she didn't want him on 17, even though he had AF. Which should have been enough to land him in CCU or cardiology, as she very rightly pointed out. And despite the previous day's events, what does Terri say when Harry dies? "I hope he didn't suffer." I got a whack on the arm for asking why, when he'd made plenty of US suffer... woman always has to be compassionate and understanding, even though she was probably still suffering from the previous day's punishment.

I guess I was lucky. Either that, or my trousers were thicker than Terri's. Either way, I got away with a fair number of raised welts as mementoes of Harry's temper, but no permanent damage. (The welts lasted about a week... Terri wasn't so fortunate) Terri was too damn proud to let herself be checked over that evening, kept saying she was fine and that there was nothing wrong with her. If only she'd listened and gotten Luke to check her over that night, when he checked me over, she might have gotten away without any scars, or at least they wouldn't be quite so bad.

But of course she had to insist that she was fine, and there was nothing to worry about... and that was despite the streaky dark purplish patches down the back of her trousers. So of course I got a frantic phone call a few hours later, from one ot the Sisters. Terri can't rest, won't (or more accurately CAN'T) sit down, and appears to have heavy bleeding down her legs. Grasping at straws, I asked if she just hadn't changed sanitary products in time, only to be informed that she had gone through _that_ issue the _previous_ week.

Naturally, Jen ordered... yes, ORDERED me to grab my medical bag and get over there. And equally naturally Terri was refusing to go to hospital, and seemed absolutely certain that steri-strips would fix the issue. According to Bernard, this was the THIRD application of them, since they just wouldn't stay put, and the cuts were pretty deep. (And deepening with every move the silly goose made, I ought to add!) I got a short verbal history of how the Sisters had dealt with the issue so far, before carefully inspecting my 'patient'. Who wasn't very, I may as well add... Patient, that is. Apparently being taken care of annoys her. Stubborn silly goose! I cleaned and dressed the wounds, before applying thick pads, and instructing Terri to make sure the dressing pads were changed if they got too blood soaked.

I guess she saw how serious the situation was at that point, because she promised to get Luke to look her over in the morning. I gave the Sisters a pack of dressings, made sure they had the cleaning solution and other things they might need during the night, and extracted one more promise from Terri that she would get herself checked over properly the next morning, before returning home to Jen and the kids.

The next day, Terri was wearing looser trousers than normal. Luke cornered me at his first opportunity, thanking me profusely for making her let him check her over. He was furious with Harry, but didn't dare show it, because he needed to 'suck up' to Harry. "Terri had four deep lacerations on the backs of her upper thighs, the deepest two very close to her buttocks. Two of them required four stitches, two required six. The two deeper ones would probably have only needed two stitches if she'd let me look her over last night, but flexing her legs every time she walked or turned over in bed, or tired to sit down really didn't help. The two shallower ones would have needed one stitch each, or maybe even just thick pressure dressings, but the constant flexing from movement made them a lot worse."

I nodded. "Yeah. I figured that. Just tell me she showed up with mostly clean dressings?" "Yes, she did. I take it you were responsible for that?" "Yeah. I'm glad she actually swallowed her pride long enough to follow instructions." Luke agreed, smiling, before abruptly appearing to change the subject. "I suppose you've heard the news?" "What news?" "Harry's been admitted overnight, chest pains and AF. Some idiot assigned him to 17. Guess who's NOT remotely amused?" I laughed. "Poor 17. I'd best go up and check on them. Who's nursing him, by the way?" "Bron, apparently." "On second thoughts, poor Harry!" "Yeah, that's what everyone else says too."

That was this morning. I got a chance to check Terri over myself around lunchtime. Luke had done an excellent job. Harry spent about five minutes lecturing me, and telling Terri off, about the previous day's events, before he suddenly asked if we were alright. I don't think he was fooled by Terri's 'fine'. I know I wasn't, it came far too fast to be honest. Or maybe it was the suspicious way she asked why he wanted to know. Harry nearly retorted angrily, but must have thought twice about it, before replying quietly that he was a little worried about us. He was aware that he had failed to follow the regulations which ensured safety and/or minimal injury in a situation like yesterday evening's, and wanted to make sure we weren't too badly injured. (I think he also wanted to make sure we weren't too traumatised, but didn't want to say so.)

Again, Terri responded too quickly, and rather unconvincingly. I took longer to reply, before assuring Harry that I had minor welts and bruises, but no major damage. I also told him that if Terri didn't want to talk about it, then he probably shouldn't push her. He looked at me with one raised eyebrow, before asking how come my trousers were the same fit as normal, but Terri's were looser. It was when he pointed out the outlines of the bandages around her thighs that I realised we might not be able to keep it from him.

Terri quite calmly informed him that she had fallen over on rough concrete steps, and had required a few stitches, but it was nothing serious. Harry looked sceptical. Terri changed the subject, telling Harry not to keep fussing with the heart monitor, because he didn't know anything about it, the reason his heart rate was so highwas he was agitated, and he was agitated cause he was staring at, and fiddling with, the monitor. Harry stubbornly kept right on fussing.

Terri produced Harmless 1 (The round one), muttering "as requested, and I think it may see use sooner rather than later, if a certain Doctor doesn't obey orders!", and I guess Harry assumed he knew what she was thinking, from the way he rolled onto one side. Terri told him not to be silly, before calmly handing the paddle to Bron and telling her not to leave it in plain view, in case it terrorized the patients. Harry laughed nervously.

Sophie came in at that point, and she and Terri made a 'date' to have coffee, before Terri made her excuses and hastily left. Harry watched her go, before looking at me and Bron. "OK, I know this is a busy ward. I know you have a lot of patients, and a lot of stress. But does she really have to run out like that?" Sophie replied with something about not really blaming her, considering what had happened yesterday, according to what he'd told her last night. Harry just sighed. "She shouldn't be here, you know. Yesterday I foolishly failed to take the proper precautions to ensure your safety, and hers, Morrison, probably because I was in too big a rush to organise meetings and complain to the board to actually deal with each of you individually."

He sighed, and I could tell that he was genuinely worried about Terri. I tried to reassure him, but he wasn't listening. "However, I am not blind, and those dark streaks I saw last night don't couldn't have been the sweat I hoped for a moment they were. Sweat doesn't spread the way those streaks spread. Blood, on the other hand, does. I'm not stupid, Morrison. How much blood did she end up losing?" "I don't know, but it can't have been too much, because she didn't need a transfusion, (or no one told me if she did) and she wasn't admitted." I replied, trying to comfort him.

"Besides, he can't tell you anything else. Patient confidentiality and all that." Bron chirped. Harry looked at her sharply, before nodding suddenly. Harry's heart rate was through the roof, and he wouldn't stop fussing with the monitor, so I had gone to ask Rob Bowen if we could sedate him, only to find Terri trying to convince Rob to let her move Harry to room 8 where he could be more constantly monitored. Rob refused both. He later told me Terri's sarcastic thanks had seemed a little hysterical, before asking if she was alright, because she was limping badly. I told him it was none of his, or anyone else's business.

I had to say the same thing to half of 17's staff. Apparently Terri just pulled all her paperwork out, slammed it on the front desk, and settled herself in as a permanent fixture. Equally apparently the gossip grapevine on the Ward was buzzing it's very hardest. Everyone's trying to work out why Terri's not being normal. Why she seems to be avoiding her office. Why she won't sit down. I told the young idiots that it was none of their business, and that rumours, innuendo and scandal were helping nothing and no-one.

Von took a more direct route. She coldly informed everyone that the next person who started speculating about someone else's private business would face Crook. Terri's head snapped up. "Oh no they damn well won't, Von", she hissed, before adding that they were welcome to face TS or even Menace, but that Crook was officially and permanently off limits. "In fact, I'm making a memo to send to admin about that, so that the doctors and administrators know too. 17's Crook is totally, officially and PERMANENTLY off limits, and that an official complaint will be made, and I will make sure it is followed up on, against anyone who tries to use Crook as anything other than a costume prop.".

"But they already know that, don't they, Sister Sullivan?" Jaz asked, confused. I broke in at that moment, explaining that it never hurt to remind people of something like this, especially when someone felt as strongly about it as Terri felt about Crook not being used on her or anyone on her ward.

I guess some of the staff were a little confused by that comment, but Connor gasped, before starting to talk about how it was wise for an official notice to be out, because some pig-headed doctor or whomever else decided to ignore Terri's will on Terri's ward would have to pay attention to official sanctions. Terri nodded decisively, and Connor gave a small, smug smirk.

"Do we want to know who ignored Terri's will to the point where Terri is willing to go to the hospital board and ask them to make it official? Or WHY it happened?" Jared asked. "Three guesses, and the first two don't count" replied Steph, her normally pretty face twisting into a scowl. "Harry and Ms Aston, right?" Connor asked. "I'm saying nothing" I replied, although I couldn't successfully hide my uncomfortable shifting, or the quick rub I gave my hurting thighs.

"Yep, Judith and Harry," Steph confirmed. "It's the only reason Peter would have copped a dose as well, isn't it?" Von produced TS, and waved it around menacingly, until the others shut up and went back to their duties.

Well, I guess that's all I can say about that particular incident. I'm glad to say I didn't have to face Crook again. I got plenty of the other implements, but Crook was banned, and we all thanked each and every deity we knew for that.

* * *

><p>AN: Peter will be back. He'll probably have two or three entries in the Diary. Several characters will have similar numbers of entries. The two main contributors will be Terri Sullivan and Mitch Stevens.


	3. Terri Mourns

Mourning

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><p>Hi, Mitch, Sullivan again... and what wouldn't I give to hear you call me that? Oh hell, we've wasted ten years, and only had about three of something resembling on-again-off-again, mostly disturbed by Rose. I miss you, Stevens. I really, really miss you. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about right now. I can tell you how much I need you another day.<p>

I can't believe, when Jenny Morrison died, just how easily everyone, including me, forgot our relationship. How close we had been to marrying, how deeply in love. You know, I've spent so many years as a nun, and I don't know if I would have felt, or noticed, my calling if we'd still been together... but then there was that young boy, and you stuck your fist through a wall... Oh God, Mitch. You knew, you must have known, how I reacted to violent drunks.

I wonder if you ever learned that sorrow-drowning was a waste of time. The little bastards can swim, you know. I've found that out, recently. I've been drinking myself stupid, in between nights of staring at the stars, trying to find your one... and remembering the day I tried to comfort Peter, and ended up forgetting that somewhere deep inside me there was a 21 year old still planning a wedding that would never happen.

Peter yelled at me that I didn't understand, with the lifestyle I'd chosen I could NEVER understand... only I did. Poor Peter, it's too easy for everyone to forget WHY I became a nun. All they ever seem to remember is that I AM a nun, not why! Hell, sometimes even I forgot WHY... and you can't imagine (Or maybe you can) just how much that bloody well hurts.

I spent so long missing US, you know. Yeah, you were still alive (maybe), but I had still lost you, and I wanted you back. I needed you back in a way that I have NEVER needed anything else in my life. And all the times I was telling people that I'm never really alone, I was desperately alone. I needed more than I had, and I don't know what those around me thought about that... I'm not sure I wanted to know.

Needing more than I had, after all, was greedy and prideful. Both sins. Both major sins. And me a nun, too. I covered it with jokes when I could, and I tried to forget about it when I couldn't joke about it, But God Almighty, I needed you. I had to leave you, I guess. Or you left me. I don't really remember... I do remember going to Margaret's that night, after you punched the wall... but I had meant to talk to you once your hangover went away. I'm not sure what went wrong. I think I might have avoided you for too long. Or maybe you were avoiding me. Only the next thing I knew, I was being called, and you had gone to Africa.

So many years. So many lost memories, lost opportunities. So many regrets. There's all kinds of grief and loss, you know, Stevens. A patient once asked me if I didn't need something more 'personal'. I said sometimes. I reminded him about my faith. But he was right, it's just not enough. I keep trying to cover my pain, my loss and my loneliness by making dumb jokes, but it just doesn't work. I told that same patient later that I might have to cancel his discharge, if he thought I was fun. I think my exact words were something like "Anyone who thinks I'm fun right now is delusional and needs to be checked out."

But I think I was talking to you about loss and grieving, wasn't I? I pulled myself through that day at work. I don't know how, but I did it. And then I went home and pretty much bawled my eyes out over a picture of me and Peter and Jenny. Then I wandered along to a wine-tasting a patient had invited me to. I had forgotten where my strength came from, where I was needed. Paul was sent to remind me, I'm sure of it.

But that's not the point, is it? My point is grief, isn't it. Marguerite, now I think of it. Hell, I nearly flinched when she asked how come I hadn't married, had children. She kept saying I should have married and had children. She also said I was 'born good'. Another thing I very much doubt. I couldn't tell her how close I... no, WE, came to having children. Every time someone asks if I regret not having children I tell them I don't know. The fact is, I regret it every god-damned day.

While I'm on the subject of not having children, Stevens, we never got around to naming our son, did we? So many names you suggested, some of them joking, some of them serious. I'm not sure I could've coped with two people named Mitch in one family, I know I didn't want to name my kid after Dad.

I'll never forget the day you came back. I don't know how I managed to cover the cartwheels and backflips my heart kept doing, that first month or so. Hell, I saw you from halfway across the hospital grounds. John Madsen and I were talking about Peter Morrison, then he suddenly says 'look who they're letting back in. You must have come across Mitch Stevens in your time." I looked up and saw you, and I swear I nearly choked. John can confirm the goofy grin I got for several seconds, and how I had to look down in order to fight it.

And then I found you in my office, as though you owned the place. You'd wanted to.. what was it you said? "Shoot the breeze" I abruptly told you to consider it shot. The truth was I had my vows... well you know that. And you know I couldn't see myself leaving the order at that time. It's why you eventually married Rose. But the reason I wanted you out at that point in time was that I knew that if I let you stay for any longer, I'd be kissing you in seconds.

We nearly ran into each other in the stairwell, remember. I ducked around a corner, breathing hard. I'm surprised you didn't notice, but I'm also relieved. Or I was. Now I kinda wish you had noticed, confronted me. John wanted me to talk to Peter. All I could think of was you. Seeing you across the courtyard. You were talking to a nurse. Then you looked up, and our eyes met, and you wouldn't look away.

I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I fell back in love with you at that moment, and that scared me halfway to death. "Come across? Come across? COME ACROSS? Is 'come across' how John NORMALLY refers to 'almost married'? I had my head down, because every time I looked up in that courtyard, it seemed our eyes met, and you gave me that cute little smirk. Oh, I'd missed that stupid little smirk. I'd missed the way you always breathed in and then informed any female that they apparently 'smelled good'. I remember Von and me started retorting with 'you smell like trouble, what do you want?'

And then that stairwell. Oh, that stairwell. I started down the stairs, nearly banged into you coming up them. Tactical retreat. Tactical retreat and catch breath. Retreat, catch breath, convince heart to stop thumping. Pray he didn't see me. Pray he doesn't come around this corner, because he seems to be looking for whomever he nearly ran across.

And then I come into my office, and find you there. "Eight years, we've got a bit of catching up to do" All I could do was ask sceptically if we really did. And I wish you hadn't decided to flirt with me that night. I swear, you looked up at me, and I felt like a deer trapped in headlights. You told me I was still burning the candle at both ends. You also said the old gang had come up in the world. You called me 'Sullivan' with that adorable little smirk on your face, and I had to clamp down hard on several things. Pesky little things like emotions.

I stood there, staring after you when you shut the door, feeling every conflict I could imagine within myself. And then you were there the next morning, as though you owned MY ward. And I don't know if Connor minded you borrowing his stethoscope, but I did. And when you started leaning over my shoulder, smarmily quoting the consultants lines back at him, and bringing in patients I hadn't been warned about, I nearly drove my elbow backwards into your ribs to wipe the smirk off your face.

And I'm not sure what I was supposed to think about you talking about an eight hour erection in front of a NUN. Eight years, and I don't think anything changed about you. John may have had a point in expressing the wish that you might have improved in the past ten years, grown up a bit, you know the drill. And then you tell a consultant that he should spend more money on his watches, because he asks you why your watch and his don't keep the same time.

Watching how deeply, utterly, hopelessly and pathetically (in my opinion, which is hypocritical because I was just as bad) in love with you Rose was made my heart ache. Especially as I had told you I couldn't see myself leaving the Order. We were talking about how we'd once talked about where we'd want to be in ten years time. I told you it wasn't an option for me, not at that moment, but if it was ever to be with anyone it would be with you. How I regretted saying that for the next year or so.

I do miss the old Rose, though. The stable Rose. The way she was before the bombing. Remember the bombing? Remember how upset you were about me and Von, and how Rose said there was more to life than me? Bron, I think, told me how you reacted to Rose saying that. You were still head over heels in love with me, and nothing would ever change that.

I guess it must have hurt Rose to know that no matter how deeply and completely in love with you she was, you were equally in love with another woman. But just as Victoria said that if you were still in love with me you shouldn't have married Rose, Rose shouldn't have married you. She knew all along that you only married her because I wasn't available.

I know how much you adored Lucy, and I'm sure you knew how much I adored... well, adore her. She's a wonderful little girl, and we both loved having her on visitation weekends. But sometimes, a horrible little corner of me wonders if it wouldn't have been better if she'd never been conceived. And another, even more horrible part of me, wishes she had been conceived earlier, before you and Rose married. A third part of me, which I usually try to pretend doesn't exist, wishes that Lucy was MY child.

Another part of me wonders, if I had walked into that church perhaps ten minutes earlier, would you yourself have spoken up about 'just cause why these two should not lawfully be joined together'? Because sure as hell I couldn't have, but so many things would have been different if someone had. Hell, if I'd shown up earlier and you'd seen me, would Rose herself have spoken up? An evil little part of me hopes so.

I haven't taken off our rings because I don't want to wear them. Lucy said how pretty they are, and I told her that they were supposed to be for her, one day. I've commissioned a chain for them, so Lucy can wear them as a pendant. Or at least, your grandmother's ring. I'm still deciding about my wedding band. The one you gave Rose was buried with her, I think. I kept yours safe for you through the operation, and we buried you with it. I think I might keep mine, but I'm not sure.

Either way, I'm not getting rid of them. Just passing them on to the next generation. I'm sure you understand that, Mitch. I'm sure you accept that, because I'm sure you would have made the same choices. Either that, or I'd've carried my rings into eternity. I think I would have preferred for Lucy to have them, though. When Rose told me I would never get to see Lucy, that Lucy would never be in my home again after you died, I believed her.

I managed to et temporary guardianship while Victoria was in hospital. I was never able to properly explain to Victoria that when Social Services were offered the choice between leaving Lucy with relatively unknown neighbours, or with her step mum, they preferred the step mum. Me, in other words. I never really managed to explain to her, because she kept yelling at me and wasn't listening to me, that I hadn't applied for custody. That I didn't want to take Lucy away, despite what my mum kept saying about Rose and Victoria being unfit.

I think Victoria eventually forgave me for whatever she thought I'd done. Either way, when she and Lucy were in a car accident a couple of years later, Victoria literally begged me to take Lucy. I never even got the chance to volunteer! Of course I gladly agreed to take care of Lucy, and having her with me brought me the most joy of anything short of having you back. We mourned together when Victoria was diagnosed with cancer, and when she died. She named me Lucy's permanent caregiver before she died, and Lucy and I went to Scotland for a few years.

We're now considering returning to Australia. I might tell you about our decision, if we end up making one.

Until then, my darling,

Sullivan, signing off.


	4. An Awkward and Painful Reunion

An Awkward Reunion

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><p>Hi there, Sullivan, Mitch here. (Yeah, I know you're a Ward Journal, but if she can you Mitch, I can call you Sullivan. Get over it)<p>

I guess it's my turn to relate a couple of stories. How about I begin with my first day as a registrar on good old Ward 17? I'm fairly sure I gave you a hard time that day. I'm kinda surprised you didn't carry Harmless (or one of the hairbrushes) around at all times that morning. God knows I would've deserved anything I got that day, and a few good swats every five to ten minutes would probably have made the day run more smoothly.

"Firm but kind hand? I'll give you firm but kind hand, Mitchell Hamish Stevens!" I could read it in your face, even before you said it. So I kept right on needling you. It's called a battle of wills. I'd say I won it, but I have the feeling Menace was the actual winner. I know I behaved badly. Too badly for Twinnie, anyway. (Yeah, Twin Sting is too long and annoying for me to say, so I'm just calling it Twinnie)

I stood there, staring at you. I watched you clear several folders worth of paperwork from the desk. From the moment you had asked to see me in your office, I kinda knew I was in trouble. Just like being in the headmaster's study... especially after you told me to shut the door. "Firm but kind hand... retreat to the nunnery..." even as my tongue ran away with me, even as I tried in my own stupid way to flirt with you, I knew I was in trouble.

That's why it didn't surprise me remotely when you pulled your Kit out of a drawer in your desk. (I had, once, been used to seeing you pull it either off, or out from behind, the bookshelf, but wherever it lived, I wasn't surprised to see it.) I think, because you blinked several times, that the fact I pulled off my belt and offered it to you surprised you. I had sort of hoped you would agree to use it instead of anything in that Kit, but I can't say I was surprised when you shook your head, picking up the three tailed short strap. I will say I was relieved you didn't pick one of the longer, heavier ones. I greatly prefer the short straps to the tawses, even though I'm kinda used to both.

Later I would learn that you refuse to use the tawses. That you don't believe in them. I knew you wouldn't believe in Crook. You didn't when you first got the Kits, either. You especially didn't after you entered the community. Probably because you knew perfectly well how easily that damned metal rod breaks skin. I had to give you stitches twice because of it, before I went to Africa. (Luke recently mentioned something to me, something about an occurrence about a year before I came back... I have to admit I was pleased to see that memo. At least that way no-one could over ride your wishes about your ward's crook.)

Anyway, I got ahead of myself, didn't I? So, there I was, needling you. I started off by asking you, interrupting a well-deserved lecture to do so, why you wouldn't even smile at me once. Then I started telling you off for pulling rank, even though you had the perfect right to do so. Even as I said the last line, about preferring you the way you were, I knew I had gone to far. Even as I slammed the door, I knew I had gone too far.

Which is why it didn't surprise me remotely when you pulled the door open and called in a dangerously low hiss, (which could be heard halfway across the ward, according to a couple of patients,) "Mitchell Hamish Stevens, get BACK in here this INSTANT!" I came back, grumbling the whole way... Well, that was the only way I knew to cover my nerves.

When you refused the belt, I shrugged and looped it over the back of a chair, before undoing my trousers. You indicated the cleared space on the table, and I think I whimpered. I took two steps forward, bent at the hips, and pulled myself over the table. I remember once, your desk was wooden, and you had a bookcase and other furniture. Now your desk is metallic (Damn cold metal, too) and you have a computer. I kinda preferred the old layout, to be totally honest. The old wood desk was more comfortable, for one thing.

But that's not the point of what I'm saying, is it? I shuddered as I felt the cold metal through my shirt, and pressing against my legs. Without my trousers holding it in, my shirt's hem was loose and flowy, and the lower buttons were undone. I'm kinda grateful for that, because it was one thin layer of material between me and the metal desk.

Anyway, you warned me to brace myself. Remember? I gripped the other side of the desk so hard my knuckles were white, apparently. You took hold of the hem of my shirt, and I shivered as you folded it onto my back. Like I said, I felt like I was back in the headmaster's study. When I mentioned that to you a few days later you said "good. Maybe you'll practice a little more decorum, behave in a more socially acceptable manner if you know what you might face otherwise!"

You put one hand on my back, and I shifted nervously from one foot to the other. I could feel Menace's three leather tails resting lightly on my bum... Then it moved away. I heard the whistle as it cut through the air, and then I felt the dull thud of impact. About five seconds later the sharp, searing pain set in. It felt like sunburn... and no, you don't want to know how I know what a sunburnt arse feels like! I shifted forward, grunting, and then rocked back.

I could feel the individual impacts, but the burning pain started blending together around number four, so that I couldn't tell which stroke had caused which area to burn. I counted twenty four impacts, I think in six places, (I would guess, from the area the pain spread to, that the lowest one was about halfway down my thighs) which means four strokes to each area... sometimes Menace impacted the same spot a couple of times in a row, sometimes it came back to visit a spot after I thought it had moved on.)

I know I spent some time, in varying degrees of hysteria, trying to convince you to stop, until I was finally babbling out only four words: 'please stop' and 'I'm sorry' An unknown time after that I ran out of breath. Either that or I was crying too hard to say anything. It took some time before I finally registered that you had stopped. I think the only reason I registered it was I hadn't felt the dull thud of Menace's impact for more time than the usual five second break between strokes. I know I changed the position of my arms at least three times, finally ending up with my arms crossed, gripping my elbows. At least that way my sleeves had muffled some of the atrocious noise I was making.

I hadn't expected your gentle touch, not after ten years. I guess I should've though. You always made a point of being especially gentle with anyone after a big one. I wasn't entirely sure why you had cleared more folders, until I felt my head and torso being lifted. I blankly watched a dark patch spreading down the front of your trousers, before realising that it was my own tears. You told me the laundry had gotten out worse, when I started babbling about it. You also pointed out that you always kept a spare skirt or trousers in here for emergencies. Along with spare trousers for any doctor (or Connor or Jared) if they needed them.

My whole spine ached, as did my legs. My rear felt about double its normal size, so I wasn't surprised when you mentioned it was rather badly swollen. (I was dismayed to hear about the bruising, but glad there was no broken skin. You said if I was still having problems with the pain in a couple of hours, to take panadol, but until then to deal with it with ice or similar.)

I was, however, surprised (although I shouldn't have been) to learn that you keep loads of spares of almost anything that might be needed in various drawers and cupboards. Boxers, and other underwear, for instance. You grabbed a multi-pack, then put it back in the cupboard and grabbed another. I looked up, and I must have guessed what you were thinking, because I mumbled '34-36'. You nodded and grabbed a pack marked '38-40'. Plain coloured boxers, satin outer material, brushed cotton inner. Soft and warm, my favourite sort, as well you knew, from the look of satisfaction on your face... yet I couldn't even muster the energy to give you my normal lecherous smirk. I could barely manage a grateful smile.

I realised I could feel you fiddling with my shoes. Then I felt the light pull as my trousers slid off my legs, before you fit a fresh, loose pair of boxers over my ankles, and pulled them up past my knees. I mustered the energy to reach back, and found the waistband. Good old-fashioned elastic, just the way I like it. I pulled them up and then pushed myself upright. I have always preferred loose trousers to closely fitted ones. I just found them more comfortable, which was an advantage at that moment in time, because they would have been too tight otherwise. Or the wool material would have scratched and rubbed on my hurting thighs. Which would have bugged me.

Anyhow, I pulled them up and tucked my shirt in, grunting a little (Material burn, don't you know!) and fastened them, before reaching for the belt. You handed it to me, and then squeezed my elbow. I remember you said about the staff break room. Not the tearoom, I knew the tearoom well. But there was the staff break room too. The ward equivalent of the Doctor's lounge, someone had once referred to it as. Clearly it hadn't changed in ten years, since I had used the room before I left Australia, quite regularly in fact. It was a good place to sleep off the effects of a good thrashing, and I got several of them... every single one well deserved, I am certain. (Laughs out loud)

The room has always had multiple sofa-beds. One ½ to three seater sofas, all of which folded out into beds. As well, of course, there were the recliners, (single seater and sofa) and tables for magazines and coffees. There had always been a cupboard full of bedding for them, too. You told me it was still there. You also said if I needed you to, you could organise someone to cover my patients, so that I could rest. I insisted I was fine. The truth is, I was terrified of being alone. I wasn't fine, but I needed to be with people, to take my mind off what had happened. I couldn't deal with the nightmares I knew would come if I was alone.

I don't think you were happy about that, but you agreed to let me stay on the job. I was really grateful for that. I couldn't have coped with being alone just then. You let me go, and I went back to the patient I had been referring to earlier, the one with the long-term erection. You helped me counsel him and his wife, because treating his heart condition meant putting his impotence on the back burner.

I'm sure there were other patients, but I don't remember most of them. I remember after the patient I've been writing about went to CCU, feeling like I needed to go and lie down for a bit, but being too afraid to. I remember you saying you were going to take an extended lunch break. You were talking about sandwiches and other stuff, but you weren't heading to the canteen. You were heading to the staff break room.

I followed you. I was starting to almost try and badger you about the fact that the break room wasn't going to provide sandwiches, but you just said you had asked Steph to bring us sandwiches and something to drink. You pulled out one of the 1 ½ seater sofa beds, and you started making it with an efficiency I'd forgotten you possessed. I took off my jacket, and wrapped my arms around myself. I considered begging you not to leave me alone, but you had already figured it out.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mitch," you said, helping me pull my shoes off. "Come on, lie down. Steph's perfectly capable of being in charge for an hour or three, and Luke has a light list. Anyway, every five minutes someone asks me how come you're not sleeping off the latest episode." "I can't sleep, I have to keep going," I grumbled, "You know I can't face the dreams that always come if I lie down so soon afterwards. I'm not tired, anyway. I need to keep going," "No, you need to recover. This has been a bad morning. I'm not going anywhere, you need to rest and I know from experience you won't unless someone sits with you. So we're not going anywhere, and that's all there is to it!" you helped me lie down, but I wasn't about to keep any weight on my bum. I almost instantly rolled over onto one side, and you packed several pillows around me, before you sat down and took my right hand.

You went to get up when Steph knocked, but she pushed the door open and told you not to get up. She pulled one of the coffee tables over and set a tray on it, before asking if we needed anything else. You said "paperwork. If there is any." Steph agreed. She came back in about five minutes later with several folders and a desk tidy. "All yours. Enjoy" she quipped. I was investigating the sandwiches and apple juice, as well as the other goodies I had found on the tray.

You watched me, smiling tolerantly. I kept investigating the tray, because I couldn't look you or Steph in the eyes. Steph quite cheerfully (I thought at the time she was too cheerful and being that cheery shouldn't be legal) told us she was returning to the nuthouse we call a Ward. You told her it wasn't that bad, even if it was a little annoying at times. Then you laughed.

I was glad Steph had brought spring-top juice bottles, because my arms were growing tired and I had lowered myself onto one side. Apparently I fell asleep with the bottle still in my mouth, but I don't really remember. I do remember later on (no idea how much later!) noticing that the sandwiches were rather cold. You said you'd just dumped the tray in the fridge and started on the paperwork. Equally apparently I woke up three times, twice from nightmares, once from just rolling over the wrong way.

When I woke up properly, you were still there. You had your head down, and you were scribbling on some form or another. I pushed myself up so I could read over your shoulder, and corrected about five spelling errors before you noticed that I was awake again. I'm not used to being referred to, or addressed, as spellchecker, but it did make me laugh. I helped you fill in three other forms, before you got up and pulled our temporarily discarded lunch out of the fridge. Ham and egg never tasted so good, I have to admit. Neither did apple slices.

We talked, then. We had the catch up you'd refused the night before. You talked about your time in the community. I talked about Africa. We both discussed why I had returned. You laughed when I asked if I had driven you into the church, before telling me that your calling had shown up at what might have been the right moment, but also was probably the wrong moment. You also said that you had been wondering about your life as a religious for a while. I told you I would support you, no matter what decision you made.

I guess I'll write more about your decision, and how I feel about it, later. For now, I'm tired, and I'm trying to think of the next thing to do to tease you, Sullivan.

Happy reading, dear friend.

Mitchell Hamish Stevens, signing off.


	5. The Almost Wedding

OK, a new, rather controversial issue. Mitch DOESN'T marry Rose, instead he marries Terri. With Rose's blessing. I know, it rarely happens. It'll happen a LOT in my fics. Mine and my friend Meg's

Yeah, I know. Rose is seriously out of character, here. This is how I see Rose if she'd miscarried before the wedding. (Remember, she married Mitch when she was about 12-15 weeks pregnant, in canon.) She's remembering the hell she went through when she wasn't on lithium, either due to being pregnant, or other reasons. But she's also remembering how good life was when she was on lithium. And, this is the first chapter of a new relationship for her and Mitch. Remember, this is going to be a Mitch and Rose as FRIENDS fic. Terri and Malcolm also as FRIENDS, but that's for another chapter.

This chapter is part 1 of a three chapter mini-fic. You'll see The Almost Wedding through the eyes of Terri and mitch as well.

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><p>The 'Almost' Wedding—Rose's Story<p>

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><p>Hello, Journal, my name is Rose Pussle.<p>

"Terri! Wow, you look GREAT!" Squealed Bron. At least, I think it was Bron. I never really knew the staff or Ward 17 as well as they knew each other. I was a physio, after all. It surprised me, though. I hadn't really expected her to be at the church. Mitch had hoped she would be there, probably as emotional support or something, but I don't think he expected her to be there either.

I'm quite sure she didn't mean to be late, though. Mitch's friend Von was late too, so I can only guess that they were held up somewhere. Either way, the priest had just started talking about the purpose of marriage and that whole long speech which leads up to the 'speak now or forever hold your peace' bit.

I'd been having doubts for a while, of course. Mitch seemed on many occasions to care more about his patients, or about HER, than me. (And I'm behaving badly. I'll talk to my counsellor about this jealousy the next time I see him, I'm trying not to let the occasional bout control my life. Hell, I'm even trying to be more responsible about my meds, since the miscarriage. I didn't want anything to happen to the baby, so I stopped the meds. It sent me nuts, so I'm trying to be more responsible now. The miscarriage was a couple of months ago, maybe two months after what was going to be the wedding.)

The subject of THAT little ramble? My Bi-Polar meds. Yeah, I'm on lithium. I went off it while I was pregnant, but when I miscarried, I went back on. Anyway, I've been kinda on and off lithium for a while. I dread going back on sometimes, especially if I'm on a high, because I hate the lows the come before everything evens out.

But that's not my point, is it? I heard someone call out "Terri!" and I turned. I had told her once that it was pity she couldn't find it within herself to be gracious about me and Mitch. Talk about pot meeting kettle. But I wouldn't admit that at the time.

I'd like to believe that since I called off the wedding (yes, when the minister said 'speak now or forever hold your peace', I took off my engagement ring, kissed it, kissed Mitch on the cheek, and told him to go. To find the happiness with her he would never have had with me. I can only imagine that I was either on lithium that week, or on a high. And since I didn't resent Terri for about a month after the wedding, I must have been on lithium.)... anyway, I'd like to believe we've all gotten along better since then.

I've kinda had a couple of dates. No one serious, but then Terri was right at Christmas time last year... I really was in love with Mitch, and anyone I end up dating long term has major shoes to fill... but no matter how in love with Mitch I was, there would always be the shadow of 'the other woman'. Especially as we worked together.

My jealousy showed up I guess at first... well, I don't know. I remember wondering if there was something wrong with Mitch because he seemed most worried about Terri during the bombing. I remember telling him Terri wasn't the only one we had to worry about... I should have known then. Only someone truly in love focuses so much on one person.

And, nun or not, I should have known then that Terri was the only woman he would ever love, and he the only man she would ever love. I should have worked that out when the announcement was made. She must have been hurting inside a LOT, but she smiled, she said congratulations. She seemed to be genuinely happy because Mitch was happy. And I see now just how damn hard she tried to be decent about it, and just how hard I made it for her to be decent about it.

Poor Terri must have gone through hell in those weeks. So much upheaval in every area of her life. First moving out of the Community. Then crazy Neil Phillips. Then the stabbing, and the murder charge. Mitch told me then that they had always been close, that they always bailed each other out of trouble, and that she needed his support, and he intended to be there for her.

Yeah, that was the day my jealousy showed through first. I asked him if this was something I needed to be worried about. If I'd been really in love with him, really secure in our relationship, then I would have had no trouble with Terri. But from day one, I had known that I was his second choice, and I guess I spent almost all of my time trying to make myself number one in his heart, instead of a substitute.

Because of that, I resented every apparently intimate moment the pair shared. I resented that Mitch had more passion for his patients than he had for me. I resented that every time he had a problem, he went to Terri rather than coming to me for support. I resented it all, and I gave Terri a really hard time about it. And looking back, with my mind clear due to actually being properly medicated, I can see that Terri was trying damn hard to be decent about us, but I never made it easy.

I'll tell you more about that another time, though. And more about a series of weird dreams I had before I started the meds this time. Dreams of years with Mitch, in which we did a lot of damage to each other. Years always overshadowed by Terri's presence, even though I know she never meant to harm our relationship. And finally, a divorce which was supposed to be amicable, but ended up being a blown up, drawn out affair with a lot of bitterness on all sides.

But the worst of those dreams is the hell I put the little girl I know I recently miscarried through. My strange dreams ended with being hit over the head with a spade by someone I met during one of times I was committed. He had been an on-again-off-again lover, and we had a fight one morning. That afternoon, he visited me and we must have had another fight, because the last scene in the last of those dreams is of me floating face down in the backyard swimming pool.

But that was meant to be for another entry, so I'll leave it there. Instead, I'll tell you all about the wedding that wasn't. The day was weird as hell. I knew Terri was at a religious retreat, and I knew that Mitch was sad that she couldn't be at the church. I guess he thought if she was there they would have some kind of closure... instead, I was the one who ended up getting closure.

I would never dream of accusing her of timing it. According to Von, Terri hadn't really meant to come, so it must have taken a lot of convincing. I'm sure she just wanted to stand in the back, see how happy we were, and then leave, knowing that Mitch was happy. (Or maybe that's just because that's the way it is in the dreams.) Instead one of their friends called out her name, so of course she had to stay.

She thanked me, about a week later. I might have wanted, at the time, to smack her. I don't know. God knows, I've wanted to smack her since, often. I actually have smacked her a few times, and I think only twice were justified... I've been reading this journal, and I'm a worse rambler than Terri is, I think!

Anyway, she thanked me for what I had done for them. She asked me if I minded telling her why I had done it... I'm sure I was on my meds and stable then, because I spoke civilly to her, and I don't know if I could have done it without the meds. Or maybe the bi-polar just wasn't out of control then. It was while I was pregnant, but when I miscarried, I went through months of counselling, and I went back on the meds. That was a tough time in my life. Mitch was there for me. Actually, even once he married Terri, he was always there for me if I needed him. And Terri was far less possessive than I, medication or otherwise, could possibly have been.

Anyway, I was telling you, as I told Terri, why I let Mitch go. I just looked at her, and I asked her why she had congratulated him when he said he was getting engaged. She looked at me. "He looked so happy. I knew you were in love with him; we had talked about it at those Christmas drinks. I couldn't see myself leaving the Order, then, and he was so happy." She had sniffed, and I passed her the tissue box. She put it down in the middle of the table, saying we would probably both need it before the conversation was over.

"He was so happy. So I was happy for him, even as my heart was breaking. He was utterly devastated when he found out about your miscarriage, you know. He hadn't even known you were pregnant, but the hospital grapevine..." I nodded. "Let me guess, one of the nurses mentioned that Mrs Stevens was in for a DNC, and it spread. Mitch wanted to know why the hell Mrs Stevens NEEDED a DNC." Terri nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right. We had to tell him we had no idea, but we could only think of one reason. I'm so sorry about that, too. I can only imagine how you must have felt about that." By then I was crying, too.

Strong, sweet tea is really good for crying over. It's even better for calming nerves. I started speaking again once I'd made myself a new cup, and offered more to Terri. She hadn't finished her first cup, though. "You came into the church. We hadn't been expecting you, and I think Mitch was sad about the loss of closure for you. You would probably have been able to hide away and slip out un-noticed if Bron hadn't called out your name." Terri nodded. "I had planned on doing that, Rose. I didn't really plan on coming to the wedding, but Von managed to convince me. I just wanted to see him happy, then I meant to leave the church before I made too much of a fuss about how emotional the whole scene was, Before I spoiled the day for you both."

"But, the best laid plans..." "Oh, indeed." We just laughed. I talked about my counselling for a while, about how much more clear everything was. Then I looked back at her. "That's why I spoke at that point, you know. I saw his face, when Bron yelled your name. I think it was Bron, anyway." Terri nodded. "Your eyes met his, I could tell from the look on his face, no matter how fast he covered it. His eyes were full of an adoration, which I've never seen for me. He covered it so fast I don't think he knows I saw it. But I did, and in that moment I knew, he could never be really happy with me. And the more I think of it, the more I realise he isn't the man for me, either. What I truly thought was love, what you even told me was love, I see now was just a major crush."

Terri's eyes widened. "I never considered that, you know? I was trying to think of how to help you move on, without seeming to pity you or anything, and it seems like you're already over Mitch." "I see how happy he is with you. How can I not be happy for him, once the heartbreak ends. I hope you don't mind the number of times I've seen him this week?" Terri smiled. "No. Of course not. He told me on Monday that you were having a hard time, and that he felt you would need support. I told him to go to you, to tell you that we would stand at your side, if only you would have us. I know he's shared coffee and commiserations with you, quite frankly it's one of the things he's best at, if all you're looking for is friendship. And, whether you believe it or not..." I finished her sentence "You speak from experience. Yes, I do believe that, now. I didn't for some time, but I've been in counselling, and I'm talking through my feelings and I've started to understand how I feel about things."

"Now, that's the other thing Mitch is brilliant at. I remember, before he even met you, just ranting at him one night in Cougars, soon after Peter left. I was kinda feeling abandoned by everyone I cared for, and apart from a slightly hurt comment which might have been supposed to mean 'but I'm still here. Don't I count?' he just listened to me rant. He was so much comfort to me then. And after the hell which was Neil... although..." "Professing his undying love for you in the middle of a courtroom probably didn't help either your case or your mental state. I gave him the cold shoulder for a week after I found out about that. And the weird bit is, if he'd come straight out and told me that he'd said that, I don't think I'd have minded. The reason I found it so relatively easy to step back and watch you and Mitch be happy together is that I knew along that I was his second choice. He said that I was his future, and that his first choice had removed themself from the race a long time ago, but somewhere I knew that if his first choice somehow re-entered the race, he would be torn between us, and it would probably kill him."

"Well, at least we're getting along pretty well, Rose. I think having two women he cares so deeply for hate each other would..." "One day, Terri, I'm going to tell you all about some dreams I've been having recently. I know, in detail, exactly what the scenario you're trying to avoid describing would look like." "Oh." I don't think she really knew what else to say about that. "You are talking to your counsellor about these dreams?" "Yeah. And I'm talking Mitch about it too. And you're right, he's a great listener. Almost better than my mother. Although Mitch doesn't give unsolicited advice. Mum does, sometimes." Terri laughed. "Isn't that a mum's job? Mine does it too."

We both finished our drinks, and Terri took the empty mugs to the sink. "Lovely talking to you, Rose. We should make it a weekly thing, catch up on gossip and moan about our parents, or whatever. But, I'm sorry to say," "You've left your paperwork alone for too long." I replied. "I have actually never met someone with a more appalling case of workaholism, other than Mitch. You and he deserve each other!"

Well, we've been having tea and conversation about once a fortnight, minimum, since that day I'm writing about right now. I did end up marrying. An old friend of all four of us, actually, Malcolm Pussle. Another old friend of mine showed up a few years later, Vincent Hughes. Sweet man, Vinnie. He and Mitch get on so well, and Charlotte fitted in to our group of friends nicely. Watching Charlotte and Vinnie, I see now what Terri's relationship with Mitch before she left the Order was truly like, and its beautiful.

But that's for another entry. Another day. I'm heading home to cook dinner for Malcolm and our three darling kids. And to prepare for Saturday's dinner. Charlotte and Vinnie and Mitch, Terri and their kids are coming over for a video night. I can't wait.

Rose Pussle, signing off.


End file.
